After six decades together, United States, I'm ending our relationship. While I still hold affection for you, the passion has diminished and the time has come to go our separate ways. I'm leaving by choice, though it brings sadness, because there remains much to admire about you.
From your breathtaking national parks, soaring ancient trees and distinctive animal species to the magical illumination of lightning bugs amid cornfields on summer evenings and the brilliant fall colors, your environmental beauty is remarkable. Your ability to spark creativity appears limitless, as evidenced through the motivational people I've encountered within your borders. Many of my most cherished memories center on tastes that permanently connect me to you – aromatic cinnamon, pumpkin pie, grape jelly. However, United States, you've become increasingly difficult to understand.
Were I drafting a farewell message to the United States, that's how it would begin. I've qualified as an "accidental American" from delivery because of my paternal lineage and centuries of ancestors before him, starting in 1636 including revolutionary and civil war soldiers, shared genetic material with a former president plus multiple eras of settlers who traversed the country, beginning in northeastern states to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois and Kansas.
I experience deep honor regarding my ancestral background and their contributions to America's narrative. My dad grew up through economic hardship; his ancestor fought as a Marine in France in the global conflict; his widowed great-grandmother managed agricultural land with numerous offspring; his great-uncle assisted reconstruct the city after the 1906 earthquake; and his grandfather campaigned as a state senator.
However, notwithstanding this classic U.S. background, I find myself no longer feeling connected with the country. This feeling intensifies considering the confusing and concerning political atmosphere that makes me doubt the meaning of national belonging. Experts have termed this "national belonging anxiety" – and I believe I experience it. Currently I wish to establish separation.
I merely lived in the United States for two years and haven't visited in nearly a decade. I've held Australian citizenship for almost forty years and have no plans to live, work or study in the US again. Furthermore, I'm certain I'll never need emergency extraction – so there's no practical necessity for me to retain American nationality.
Furthermore, the obligation I face as a U.S. citizen to submit annual tax returns, despite neither living or employed there nor qualifying for benefits, proves burdensome and anxiety-inducing. The United States ranks among only two nations worldwide – including Eritrea – that implement levies according to nationality instead of location. And financial compliance is mandatory – it's documented within travel documents.
Admittedly, a fiscal treaty operates between Australia and the U.S., intended to avoid double taxation, but preparation expenses range between A$1,200 and A$3,500 annually even for basic returns, and the procedure represents highly challenging and complex to complete each January, as the American fiscal cycle begins.
I've been informed that ultimately the U.S. government will enforce compliance and administer substantial fines against non-compliant citizens. This enforcement doesn't target high-profile individuals but all Americans overseas need to meet requirements.
While taxation isn't the primary reason for my renunciation, the recurring cost and anxiety associated with documentation becomes troubling and basic financial principles suggest it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. But neglecting U.S. tax responsibilities could result in travel involves additional apprehension regarding possible border rejection due to irregular status. Alternatively, I could postpone resolution until my estate handles it posthumously. Neither alternative seems acceptable.
Possessing American travel documentation constitutes a privilege that countless immigrants earnestly attempt to obtain. Yet this advantage that feels uncomfortable for me, so I'm taking action, although requiring significant payment to complete the process.
The intimidating official portrait featuring the former president, glowering at attendees within the diplomatic facility – where I recited the renunciation oath – supplied the ultimate impetus. I recognize I'm selecting the correct path for my situation and during the official questioning about potential coercion, I honestly respond negatively.
Two weeks afterward I obtained my official relinquishment document and my voided travel papers to keep as souvenirs. My name will reportedly appear on a federal registry. I merely wish that subsequent travel authorization gets granted when I decide to visit again.
A passionate traveler and writer sharing insights from global journeys and practical lifestyle advice.